For a little while the negro slept on undisturbed. Then he suddenly crinkled his broad, flat nose and flipped his hand at the fly or mosquito that was supposed to be tickling him. The spectators grinned, and Harvey waited till Bunk was slumbering as heavily as before. Then he resumed his role of Tantalus. This time he tickled so energetically that Bunk struck impatiently at his tormentor and banged the top of the chair a vigorous blow—so vigorous indeed that several of the men snickered and the dusky youth opened his eyes and raised his head, as wide awake as ever in his life.
“Think yo’s smart, doan’ yo’?” he growled, donning the cap that had fallen to the floor and shaking himself together.
“The next thing, Bunk, you’ll fall asleep in the biplane and tumble out head first.”
“I doan’ see dat it’ll make any difference to yo’ if I do,” replied the other, nettled by the general laughter more than by the manner of his awaking.
“It won’t, but it will to you. If you want to sleep all the time go to your room.”
Bohunkus mumbled something, shifted his position, sank down in his chair until he seemed to be sitting on the upper part of his spine, and in a few minutes was nodding again. Harvey molested him no further, but looking up discovered by a furtive glance that the thin young man in gray had been studying him for an indefinite time, though quick to shift his gaze as before.
Harvey drew his note-book from his pocket, and, bringing his chair to the table, began making sketches with his pencil, wholly from imagination. The stranger, a little while later, drew up his seat opposite and busied himself in the same way. Thus the situation remained for perhaps ten minutes.
Suddenly a pellet of paper the size of a dime was flipped across the brief space and fell upon the page that was covered with Harvey’s tracings. He knew it came from the man on the other side of the table, and he understood it was meant to be secret. It was an extraordinary way by which to communicate with him, when it would have been easy to speak one or two words in so guarded tones that they could not be overheard. But the man must have had his reasons, which would appear later.
With that quickness of resource that has been shown to be a marked trait of Harvey Hamilton, he did a bright thing. Without betraying any haste or interest, he picked up the tiny wad and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He did not even look at the stranger, but nodded his head, keeping his eyes on his note-book. A minute later the man rose from his chair and sauntered into the bar-room, turning off to one side so as to be out of sight of the youth had he looked for him while still in his seat, which he did not.
It was with curious emotions that Harvey saw he was called upon to play a peculiar role. He had been given a written communication in such a manner as to make it certain the sender wished no other person to know what had taken place. The youth must read the message, but do so secretly. To untwist the bit and examine it while in the sitting-room would betray everything. Only one course remained.